Bite Me, Your Grace

Thirty


Ian paced the stone floor of the underground anteroom of the Elders’ motherhouse in Amsterdam. The ancient faces looking down on him had been intimidating the first time he’d come before the governing force. They sat in folds of darkness so thick that one couldn’t tell if shadows framed their solemn faces or executioner’s hoods. But they frightened Ian no longer. He was impatient to get this over with and return to London and his beloved bride. His petition to Change Angelica had been approved, and now all that was left was to discuss Rafe’s succession.

It seemed an unnecessary chore to come all the way to Amsterdam for this formality, Ian believed, though he would never dare voice such a defiant thought. A sideways glance at Rafe’s impatient expression confirmed that they were in accord. The Elders gazed at them knowingly from their raised podiums as if they knew what both were thinking.

“Lord Ashton and Rafael Villar, thank you for coming so quickly,” they chorused as if they truly were the single mind they represented.

“Thank you for responding to my request with alacrity,” Ian said with a bow. It was strange being addressed by his surname for the first time in a century. But the Elders cared nothing for mortal titles.

Marcus, the Lord of Rome, looked up from a pile of parchment. “Raphael Villar, please come forward.

Rafael approached the Elders, looking up at them expressionlessly, which was as close to respect as he could muster.

Marcus looked down at his papers. “As you are nearing your third century and have spent the last one acting as second to a lord, you fit the standard qualifications to replace Ian Ashton as Lord of London. However, we have a few concerns.”

“What concerns would those be, Excellency?” Rafe said through clenched teeth.

“Well, there is your temper, to begin with,” the ancient Roman replied smugly. “After all, that is what led to your… accident.”

The Spaniard’s reply verged on a growl. “To allow a hunter to live is to bring danger to our kind. That is your edict. My actions had nothing to do with my temperament.”

Anastasia, Lord of Moscow, nodded in agreement and addressed the others. “It is true that Villar followed our code in eradicating our enemies.” She glared at the others as if daring them to argue. “Also, we have received no valid complaints against him in all his years of existence.”

The others nodded, but Marcus continued to frown. “Our other concern is your unfortunate disability. How do you expect to defend yourself and your people with only one functioning arm? Much less fight a duel.”

Ian cursed under his breath. Rafe flinched as if struck while the Elder smiled in triumph.

“Why don’t you fight him now and see for yourself?” The words left Ian’s mouth before he had time to think.

Marcus’s mocking laughter was cut short as the remaining Elders chorused their agreement.

The Lord of Rome shot a glare at his colleagues before rising into the air to float down before Rafael. “Very well,” he replied with a smirk.

With smoothness belying his handicap, Rafe swiftly unbuttoned his frock coat and tossed it to Ian, along with his hat. Marcus’s eyes widened and a flicker of doubt was revealed in every line of his body.

The remaining Elders took up their quills and parchment as if to document the case. Ian had no doubt that they were really recording wagers.

The two vampires bowed to each other and the fight commenced. Marcus charged like an angry bull. Rafe danced nimbly from his reach. The ancient Roman snarled, enraged that he had failed to land a blow. He took to the air, attempting to use his power of flight against the Spaniard.

In a blur of speed that was impressive even by preternatural standards, Rafe’s fist took Marcus under the chin, sending him crashing into the stone wall. Slowly, Marcus stumbled to his feet, only to be knocked over once more as Rafe came at him like a spinning dervish.

“Enough!” the Elder coughed, spitting out blood. “You’ve made your point, Villar.” Marcus winced as he returned to the podium. “Let the interview commence.”

For the next hour, the Elders asked Rafe standard questions as to how he would handle his responsibilities as Lord of London, if appointed.

“What would you do if one of your vampires Changed a mortal without permission?” the Lord of Constantinople asked.

Rafe hid a yawn. “I would place him or her under arrest and report the incident to you.”

Ian nodded in admiration at Rafe’s response. Though the penalty for such an offense was usually execution, the Elders always insisted on being notified and holding a trial to ensure that a lord was not abusing his power.

The Elders murmured their approval and asked the next question, but Ian didn’t hear. Suddenly, the Mark between him and Angelica pulsed and flared. His wife was in danger! Every cell of his being throbbed with the need to dash out of the chamber and fly back to London immediately. The only thing keeping him anchored to his spot was the knowledge that the Elders would punish him for such a disrespectful action. Thankfully, the Elders stood and announced the verdict.

“Raphael Villar, you are hereby approved to stand in for Ian Ashton as Lord of London. We only ask that you inform us as soon as you take the position and tell us your selection as second in command.”

Ian and Rafael bowed in unison. The Lord of Edo, Japan, fixed Ian with a piercing stare. “I also move to adjourn for I see that Lord Ashton has some pressing business to attend to.” Her almond-shaped eyes glittered as if peering into his soul.

“Thank you, lords,” Ian said and charged from the chamber with Rafe on his heels.

“Something is wrong with your bride, isn’t it?” Rafe asked, running beside him.

Ian nodded, not slowing his pace.

“It doesn’t surprise me that she was unable to stay out of trouble for even this short time,” the Spaniard observed calmly. “You had better fly. I will catch up to you as soon as I am able, and I will be happy to aid you in punishing whoever is responsible… unless the duchess is solely at fault.”

Ian needed no further urging. He took to the air, heart pounding in terror for his love.

It took Ian less than twelve hours to arrive back in London. Normally, he hated to use such great speed, especially when flying. This time the odd sensation of vaulting through the sky like a preternatural cannonball had little effect on his awareness. All he could do was pray that his Angel would be safe when he arrived.

He stopped quickly at his house to fetch a sword and cursed as Burke handed him the ransom note.

I have your duchess. I will trade her in exchange for a note of safe passage out of London for myself and John Polidori.

Respectfully your servant,

Rosetta

“Goddammit!” Ian roared.

Of all his vampires, he had never expected quiet, unassuming Rosetta to betray him. He bared his fangs in rage. He would kill her for this!